Barry Tompkins: When packing, I am the Yoda of the suitcase

Bay Area sportscaster Barry Tompkins sits in a restaurant on Monday, Aug. 22, 2011, in Fairfax, Calif. He began his career in San Francisco in 1965 and has worked for HBO and Fox Sports Net. He is known for his work as a boxing commentator, but has covered football and other sports. He lives nearby in Ross.
(IJ photo/Frankie Frost
Frankie Frost

I WRITE THIS column sitting aboard United flight 1122 headed for fabulous Newark, N.J., which is to New York City what Oakland is to San Francisco. That is to say a blue-collar neighbor with a little man's complex.

I have a week's worth of business in New York, and, depending on traffic, it could take one or two days to get there from the Newark airport. If you don't hear from me next week, don't pay the ransom — I'll try and escape.

This is one of those trips during which I have social obligations every night and a boxing event to do from the Barclay Center in Brooklyn. So, I need to bring enough clothes to at least appear to be freshened up every night and professional when I have to work. Ergo I offer this column as a public service. I know how to pack.

If packing were criteria for a Nobel Prize, I'd be right there humbly accepting my reward and thanking all the little people like Samsonite and Tumi. Some people can sing, some can play the piano, others can juggle — I can pack.

I am toting four dress shirts, three pairs of pants, two suits, a pair of jeans, workout gear, a pair of dress shoes, five T-shirts, a pair of shorts, assorted socks and underwear, and an umbrella. My suitcase is roughly the size of a wallet. Damn, I'm good!

I began perfecting the art of packing many years ago when a bag I had checked through to Paris arrived at my front door six months later, having been vacationing somewhere in the South Pacific. Its contents were quite tanned and looking very relaxed. On the other hand, I spent two weeks in France wearing either the clothes I'd arrived in or naked. The latter worked out OK on the beach but did cause the occasional stare at dinner.

I swore at that point that I would never again check a bag. And now, of course, the airlines charge you to lose your baggage.

So, I developed organizational skills that would make Miss Manners use me as a role model; I learned how to fold items better than anyone who has ever mastered the art of making an origami swan and I've learned the fine art of mixing and matching better than e-Harmony. I am the Yoda of the suitcase.

There is usually a rather hefty charge for this information, but I feel it incumbent upon me to share these dos and don'ts with my loyal readers:

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Do: Stay within a color scheme. Blacks and grays, browns and beiges, etc.

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Don't: Attempt to pack the family boxer along with the boxer shorts.

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Do: Pack only for one week despite the length of your trip. There are Laundromats everywhere and where there aren't, there's usually a river.

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Don't: Bring the steamer trunk that your grandparents brought with them from the old country just after the Russian Revolution.

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Do: Leave behind your favorite pillow that you just can't sleep without. Either that or bring it and leave your clothes at home.

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Don't: Bring those metal-toed work boots just because you think you might have to re-excavate the lobby of the hotel you got for just $75 a night.

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Do: Limit shoes to a bare minimum. If you can't do that, leave your feet at home.

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Don't: Let the words "just in case I need it" ever enter into a discussion of what to bring. Bring a credit card — it takes up much less space than a sowester and waders.

Well kids, that's the lesson for this week. Stay tuned next when we'll be talking about another of life's pesky problems: Doing your own brain surgery.